


Masquerade

by amuk



Series: PH-Fanfest [25]
Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Obsession, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6367072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Find me, she orders, she commands.</p><p>I’ll find you, he obeys, he heeds.</p><p>--Jack and his search for Lacie</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Prompt 6—Because people don’t have wings, we look for ways to fly

 

He dreams in red, in red and black. Dreams of black hair and red eyes and blood that doesn’t stop falling.

 

Find me, she orders, she commands.

 

I’ll find you, he obeys, he heeds.

 

-x-

 

The woman’s hand is soft, cloying. Her smile, encouraging. She raises his chin with a finger and lets out a gasp of surprise at his eyes.

 

“You are a pretty one,” she murmurs. Drawing him closer, she peers at his face, her hands resting on his cheeks. Jack resists the urge to squirm. It’s uncomfortable, being in the spotlight like this. It’s even worse to be so scrutinized.

 

Jack’s more comfortable with the dark, with being hidden.

 

“I can see the resemblance.  You truly are a Vessalius.” Her fingers brush his golden hair, twirling it lightly. “No one else has this combination of green and gold.”

 

“Thank you,” he replies stiffly. He isn’t sure what to say in these types of situations, not yet.

 

She laughs. “You’re cute. I’ll do it.”

 

The rings on her fingers softly tap against his skin, heavy and cold.

 

What Jack wouldn’t give to have one of those now, to sell it and use it in ways this lady would never think of.  Dressed in a purple silk dress, sitting on a bed gilded in gold, does she ever think of just what all these things are worth? The information and people these things could buy?

 

“Relax, it’ll be more fun that way.” Her right arm slowly drags down his left, and she smiles softly. The tone of her voice shifts slightly and he commits it to memory.  “Your first time?”

 

“Yes,” he replies, lying easily. He’s found they prefer to think that. Maybe the idea of conquest makes them excited, maybe it’s just the idea that he’s unsullied, he’s not sure.

 

“I’ll be gentle then,” she murmurs, pulling him in closer for a slow kiss.

 

-x-

 

He dreams in song and laughter, in a tune that haunts his waking step. Every piano piece, every voice is potentially hers.

 

(And nothing, nothing is as sad and as broken as that song, nothing is as happy and excited as her laugh, and nothing is ever close enough to comfort him)

 

-x-

 

“Play the piano?” The pianist stares at him, judging him. The clothes Jack wears are stolen but the money he has is real.

 

His hair is brushed back enough, shoulder length and still growing. It’s long enough to indicate he’s well off—no one from the lower classes would have this impractical length. If he had enough time, he would have washed his face more, but there should be nothing obvious about his appearance.

 

Nothing that screamed _orphan_.

 

“Yes, I’m hoping for some lessons.” If he tilts his head just so, it adds a touch of nervousness and worry. A child hoping for a yes but expecting a no.

 

“I suppose I can,” she finally says, still staring at him. There’s a touch of disbelief in her words and he flashes a disarming grin. It relaxes her, as it always does, and she needs no further convincing.

 

Excited, he bounces on his feet. “I can’t wait.”

 

-x-

 

Jack practices smiles in the mirror, lifts his lips slowly. If he rises one side more than the other, he’s grinning broadly. If he makes the smile softer, showing a little teeth, it’s seductive, cajoling.

 

He closes his eyes, tries to repeat this all by memory. Just muscle movement. A frown isn’t allowed, a pout is acceptable.

 

Some expressions are worth more than others and he discards the ones that can’t further him.

 

-x-

 

“Jack,” she whispers, she shouts. “Jack.”

 

Lacie, Lacie, Lacie. The words don’t make it out of his throat, remain trapped in the cage of his body. Lacie, I miss you. Do you miss me? Do you remember me? Lacie, I’m looking for you. I’ve been looking for years now.

 

Lacie, wait for me.

 

-x-

 

“Ah, Jack,” the man greets, the duke of something or another. He smiles, warm and eager, a smile Jack remembers best under the moonlight.

 

But today is not the time for that. “It’s nice to might you again.” Jack bows deeply, making sure his emerald eyes are still focused on the duke’s face. Bright and honest eyes, he’s been told.

 

“So polite, so formal.” The man chuckles and motions to the chair across from him. “Please have a seat.” Here in the rose gardens of his mansion, a tea set has already been laid out. Cookies and scones, freshly baked, entice him closer and Jack sits down softly. “It’s been a while.”

 

“It has. I hope you’ve been well?” Jack takes a bite from a cookie, slowly chewing it. There’s a process to all this, a procedure of three bites and five minutes of chewing. He can’t look too hungry, can’t seem too uncouth.

 

Duke Philips—Jack remembers his name exactly now—sips his tea slowly.  “I have. And you, Jack?”

 

“Very well,” he replies, smiling broadly, without thinking. His red earring glints in the sun. Duke Philips like him best when he has a touch of naivety to his expressions and he changes accordingly.

 

“That’s good. I have a surprise—oh, there he is.” The Duke gets up, walking around the table and behind Jack. “Come, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

 

Another stepping stone. Jack grins. “I look forward to it.”

 

-x-

 

 _Think for youself, don’t just follow what others say,_ Lacie whispers. He does, he tries. His body becomes a weapon he learns how to use. Every movement, every gesture can be used to flatter, to please.

 

Would she be happy to hear this? Would she be proud and tell him he did well?

 

He tries to remember the feeling of her hands as she cut his hair, the way she threaded them through his locks. She had ruffled it after, removing the loose hairs. “Such pretty hair.”

 

And he comes up blank. Panicking, he clutches his chest, trying to calm his breathing.

 

Jack can’t remember her touch.

 

-x-

 

(If Jack is honest, he forgot most of Lacie years ago. If Jack is honest, there is only a sensation, a smile, a time. That is all he has of Lacie.)

 

-x-

 

(If Jack is honest, he doesn’t know if he’s sad or even mad about that. He’s happy, he’s always happy. Jack is a man of smiles, of laughter, of constant glee. Jack is a man of quiet seduction, of secretive pleasure, of soft cunning.

 

Jack is a man, a mask, a single expression. A thought, a concept. )

 

-x-

 

“So you’re a Vessalius?” The woman touches her golden pendant, the emerald in it matching his eyes. A gift, perhaps, from his father’s family. Jack’s eyes are a brighter shade, a warmer shade, and he nods happily. It’s almost instinctive now, the smile, the exact tone of his voice. His body is an instrument and he knows just what keys to press.

 

“I am, a long lost son,” he confesses, slowly bringing out his mother’s pendant. He hasn’t thought about her in years. If he tries, he can’t even remember her face. His expression saddens, slightly, just enough to look thoughtful and longing. “I only have this, a memento of my mother. It’s from my father.”

 

“I see.” She takes the pendent gingerly from him and examines it. Verifying its authenticity, she gives him a calculated look. “And you are here why?”

 

“To strike a bargain.” Jack takes back the pendant, and rolls it in his hands. “I want to get into the Vessalius family once more.”

 

“And?”

 

“And if you can help me,” he leans forward, whispering in Duchess Barma’s ear, “I can help you. I hear there’s a certain someone you desire.”

 

Her expression turns predatory.

 

-x-

 

He lives and breathes and it’s all for a single name, a single person, a single cause.

 

Lacie. Lacie. Lacie. Lacie.

 

His heart beats her name, his steps echo it, and he can’t escape the chains that bind him tightly to that day.

 

The blood hasn’t stopped raining for him. Even now, his skin is covered in its sticky, metallic scent. “Come look for me,” she asks.

 

“I will. I have. I still am,” he promises.

 

-x-

 

(And he can’t remember her now, can’t remember her hair or her laugh or the exact feel of her fingers in his. He can’t remember what she said as they stole a loaf of bread or ran through the streets.

 

Only the red, red, red of her eyes, the white of her dress.

 

It’s fitting, really. For every piece of her that he lost, a piece of him went missing. Jack is a person with few expressions, with only smiles and pleasing words.

 

Jack is a gaping hole and he is afraid to find out what’s below.)

 

-x-

 

He is Jack Vesselusis now, the fifth son of a small house.

 

He is Jack and soon, soon, he will meet Lacie.

 

(Soon, he will remember who he is.)


End file.
